


Human

by shittershutter



Category: Deadpool (Movieverse)
Genre: Cablepool - Freeform, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 20:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14838794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shittershutter/pseuds/shittershutter
Summary: Wade finds him mid-poke, spoons him and gropes him all over and doesn't discriminate between the healthy parts and the parts of him that make others uncomfortable. The affected patches of him are the same temperature as the rest of the body. The virus adapts, learns to be human. Masquerades as being one rather.





	Human

**Author's Note:**

> * Unbetad. Sorry. 
> 
> It's porn. And it's about food.

The man behind him is humanly warm and inhumanly coarse to the touch when Nate throws the flesh arm around to paw lazily at his thigh. It's just more scared skin -- Wade has no pants on, why would he -- and he traces its topography aimlessly until the gloved hand gives his wrist a squeeze. 

"Is it a full-blown brooding or just your average tragic bathroom contemplation?" 

Nate hums to indicate something in-between, leans back and lets his full weight rest on Wade, head on his shoulder. 

Wade doesn't even budge. In a reflection, his exposed mouth is blue and yellow -- a half-healed heavy bruise, less than an hour old by the look of it, contrasted by the brighter blood between his teeth. 

Nate can always smell the blood in its smallest amounts. Decades of war have made him hyper-aware.

"Had a run-in with local freelance poets for your vegan burrito," Wade explains while sucking a matching bruise into the older man's mouth. "I'm looking to get properly compensated for my trouble. If you know what I mean." 

He winks and while the half of his face is obscured by the mask, Nate can feel the muscles twitch.

The war between the vegans and the meat-eaters ended with an armistice in Nate's world. The former surrendered as soon as any green food became a luxury product impossible to afford, the later ran for the hills when the beef cattle followed suit soon after, no sustainable food source for it on the barren ground.

Synthetic protein bars won that war. Which is why the first time Nate has a steak and a salad in this world, at the current time there are genuine tears in his mismatched eyes. 

Wade claims those tears make him hard and invests in their fridge with the same enthusiasm he reserves for his guns only. 

The balanced diet could be good to get a hold of the virus, Nate figures as he pokes around the hardened skin in the bright bathroom light, the last frontier between the meat and the machinery that runs diagonally across his chest. 

Wade finds him mid-poke, spoons him and gropes him all over and doesn't discriminate between the healthy parts and the parts of him that make others uncomfortable. The affected patches of him are the same temperature as the rest of the body. The virus adapts, learns to be human. Masquerades as being one rather. 

It spreads through a quarter of Nate in the first year, then it stops. When he has the suicide weapon picked out, it just halts abruptly and resorts to nibbling lazily at his healthy flesh, seemingly satisfied, for now. 

The metal fibers that replace the cells with a steady pace are denser. He breaks furniture, crashes bones and has a dozen of surgeries to have his organic skeleton reinforced so it holds under the weight.

He sees final stages, human-shaped, inhumanly-built, strapped to cots, as they open their black mouths, letting the high screeching wannabe screams out. They sound like an electric drill working through a metal bucket and there is nothing organic about them. 

He considers himself to be brave and clear-minded but there is no way in hell he's letting the disease go this far.

Then Wade waltzes into his life smelling of puke and skewed life priorities. With his skin rotting off his bones and his non-existent concept of death and gravely injuries, for the first time, he makes Nate reconsider his very notion of what "too far" even is. 

Wade tells him he misses the sense of touch the most. Shows him his open palm, traced with scars -- the lifeline is still visible on his left hand if you really squint -- and it runs through and through symbolically, like nothing ever happened. Like life goes on. 

"I'm about to do the thing," Wade mumbles, dragging his teeth along the back of his neck, flesh first, then metal with a soft clinking sound, returning Nate to the present. 

Then he circles his waist with both hands and humps him lazily, already half-hard against the sweats. "You don't mind that, do you?" 

Nate digs his hand into the porcelain and pushes back, circles his hips lazily as the hard dick lands right into the cleft of his ass like it belongs there. Peeling their clothes off, the younger man doesn't dispute that statement. 

Wade is gentle with him in a way that is neither deserved nor asked for, cradling him in his arms as his hips do the work, looking for his eyes in the mirror until Nate does look up, the red iris flashing and hitting them both in the eye in a sharp painful flare. 

"Take off the mask when you fuck me, have some class," Nate growls when he starts to sweat, moisture accumulating rapidly on his temples and where the backs of his thighs are nested comfortably, perfectly against the front of Wade's. 

"Touch me, you emotionally unavailable creep," Wade spits back, his irritated tongue dancing along the sharp line of his teeth. 

He snakes an arm around the man's stomach and goes balls deep -- that extra inch, the final trick in his proverbial sleeve -- it catches Nate off-guard, makes him gasp and wobble on his feet. 

When he has enough oxygen to brace himself he stars at Wade in the mirror, gaze traveling between the man's eyes and his own hand that is clawing the back of Wade's neck. 

In this silent movie scene, Wade gestures at Nate's other, infected hand that is gripping the sink, efficient but distant, right where he's placed it ten minutes ago. 

"Ah," Nate gasps but it still takes him a few painfully long seconds to detach the metal digits from the porcelain surface, the rattling with which they move amplified by the merciless acoustics of the bathroom.

He then obediently digs the fingers into the flesh of Wade's ass. _Human, meat,_ the hand communicates to his brain helpfully with its tech bluntness. Nothing about the roughness of the scars is mentioned.

"That's my man," Wade gasps, hips faltering in their measured pace. "That's my good, good man." 

He yanks the mask off the rest of the way throwing it behind them to avoid the temptation to pick it up again and sucks Nate's entire ear into his mouth, plunging his tongue into the shell. 

It's loud and enthusiastic and Nate's own quiet moans drown in it. Wade reaches down to push the older man's thighs further apart and he stares into the mirror shamelessly admiring his work as Nate's hard dick bobs against his stomach glistening at the tip.

Wade takes it carefully with both hands admiring the weight and even refrains from a joke in his reverence, drooling a little into Nate's shoulder. 

Then he strokes him, one palm at the base, squeezing at the balls, rubbing behind them against the stretched rim. The other works the length and it's dirty and intrusive, leaving no chance for Nate to last. 

Wade comes with him -- he can't feel it at the moment with the hands still on him, torturing the sensitive flesh -- but feels it soon enough cooling against his inner thighs where Wade makes no effort to clean it up but sure spends time on rubbing it in. 

"Notice how I haven't made a single eggplant joke," Wade whispers against the shorter hairs at the back of his head. "And you've been practically begging for it with that burrito."

Nate chuckles -- an honest to god chuckle that irritates his dry throat -- grabs the younger man by the neck with his mechanical arm and as the joints rattle pushes his tongue into his mouth.


End file.
